


Stairs are Hard

by trashmovthtoziers



Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Broken Bones, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Hurt Klaus Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Pre-Canon, Protective Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-04-23 20:24:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19158328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashmovthtoziers/pseuds/trashmovthtoziers
Summary: The story of how Klaus breaks his jaw.





	Stairs are Hard

**Author's Note:**

> writing this took me WAY longer than i anticipated. it's been in my docs for the past 3 months and i can't seem to be satisfied with it. i think this is as satisfied as i'll get. 
> 
> sorry for the criminal use of italics, by the way. it happens to the best of us.

Klaus had always had a thing for breaking into closets (and sure, it could’ve foreshadowed his long anticipated and quite expected coming-out story, but that was besides the point). To be quite honest, he had a thing for breaking into _anywhere_ , but closets were by far his favorite place to scour through. While it could be considered unusual or, more realistically, highly intrusive, it was always fun look through another person’s prized collection of shoes, shirts, pants, skirts.

The Academy uniforms that he and his siblings were all forced to wear were about as interesting as his math lessons were, meaning that they weren’t interesting _at all._ Some of his siblings would disagree about the whole math-thing (Five- _cough-cough_ -Diego- _cough-cough_ ) and would probably compare the uniforms to something more inclusive and broad-scale like... golf? The uniforms were about as interesting as golf. Even golfers would agree.

He had been forced to wear those damn schoolboy shorts for as long as he could remember, really. Father, for a reason no one could ever understand, was always strict about outward appearance. To him, it was of _utmost importance_ that they looked presentable all hours of the freakin' day. When they were children, he had given them each only five different sets of clothing, always with identical back-ups; the everyday uniform, the God-awful latex mission costume that chafed like a bitch, the mucus-green tracksuit for exercise periods, the crested pin-striped pajamas, and a bland but fancy party outfit.

According to Father's old-fashioned, proud, and rather unusual logic, Umbrella Academy uniforms were to be worn at (almost) all times. No exceptions... That is, except for Allison. _She_ was the exception, that lucky little—

 _God_ , had Klaus envied her.

Lucky. Number. Three. Like Chinese tradition, or the Bible, or the cosmos or whatever it was. She was lucky, anyway.  
  
Allison had been roped into some sort of modeling career by the agent that Father had initially insisted that they most _definitely_ didn’t need. He had conceded and changed his mind, of course, after the Academy practically flooded out any and all other aspects of the media ("Wait, Britany Spears' new music video?! That's old news! Did you hear how the Umbrella Academy took out those robbers?!").

Their fan-base was growing, and it was happening _fast_. Allison was by far the fan-favorite, and the agent took note of that quickly. She was 'an inspiration to girls everywhere' with her big, bright smile and the confident set of her shoulders, and, to be quite honest, her power was definitely the most desirable. To appease the fans (and to, of course, increase comic book sales), Father had reluctantly agreed to sign eleven-year-old Allison to a private modeling agency. At first, it had been small-scale modeling, nothing big, but it was enough to have the fans wanting more.

So when Allison came back to the Academy after her very first private photo-shoot in a pair of freakin' _jeans_ , Klaus just about keeled over in shock. He had never worn a pair before, but had always wanted to. He'd only ever seen them on normal children outside the windows on the street-side or out during missions. The thing that surprised him most, though, was the fact that Father didn’t bat an eyelid at the whole thing. While his expressions were usually just about _impossible_ to read, indifference was one the children had grown accustomed to. He had pushed by an open-mouthed Vanya as he tore down the hall in the direction of his study, completely and utterly unfazed.

Allison, however, was beaming, practically beside herself with glee.

And since then, after every photo-shoot she did by herself, she came home in another outfit. She never wore the clothes the agency had given her outside of the confines of her room (other than the original stretch from when she first put it on to the door of her second-floor bedroom), but everyone knew that they were her most prized possessions.

After her fourth photo-shoot, Klaus dug through her closet of treasures. She was off doing morning exercises with Luther and Diego and, _God_ , he just couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t fit into most of her clothes because they were so small, but he did rather enjoy the frilly purple dress and the white buckle-up Mary Janes from her last photo-shoot.  
  
She never found out that he had gone through her stuff, which was surprising in itself because he was never very inconspicuous about anything.

The day that Klaus discovered Grace’s closet, tucked away in a little room behind Father’s study, _he_ was the one practically beside himself with glee. He knew that his not-so-robotic mother had one, but had never known where it was. In all of his explorations of the mansion he had never been able to find it. Once, he’d tried to follow her back to it, early in the morning, but she had caught him easily (apparently she had censors or something, Five had told him as much) and had sent him back up to his room with a glass of water and a warm smile.  
  
The day Klaus made his discovery was… a memorable one. Both Father and Pogo were out at some sort of meeting with another world renown billionaire, something about his ‘monkey (chimp?) serum’ as Diego liked to call it. It made sense that Father and this unnamed billionaire would have a meeting someplace else. A meeting at the Academy would be more hectic than beneficial. The only reason that Klaus was anywhere _near_ Father’s study was because he was out. Otherwise, he steered clear of that place like he would the Black Death (he'd met spirits from around that era, it didn't sound very fun), and for good reason too.

Whenever Father was out, and that didn’t happen very often, he liked to wander around the mansion and uncover its secrets. If he did that while Father was around, there would hell to pay if he was caught someplace he shouldn't have been. Klaus had just finished digging through the drawers in one of the guest rooms overlooking the courtyard when he found the closet door in a little nook behind Father’s study. It was well-hidden and, just from looking at it, he could already tell that it was full of secrets.

He pulled the door open to discover pure and utter bliss.

 _Mom's closet._  
  
In all honestly, it wasn’t much, but to Klaus it was more than enough. There was an entire rainbow of old 50s and 60s style dresses, hung all the way the wall to the ceiling. Corsets, petticoats, underskirts, chiffons, belts— there was everything he could've possibly imagined. Below said dresses was a shoe rack lined meticulously with shoes of all colors. There were heels, flats, boots, stilettos, wedges, loafers, and even a pair of Mary Janes like Allison's. A brass-framed full-body mirror was strung and hung high on the opposite wall, mounted above a small circular table used to display jewelry; necklaces, bracelets, rings, expensive-looking brooches.  
  
He had never been in a room so wonderful.  
  
Spinning around in a not-so-elegant circle, grinning ridiculously, he took a big pearl necklace off its display and draped it around his neck. Just as he was about to pull a black dress off of its hanger, he spotted them; a single pair of sleek red high heels. They practically called to him, a sweet symphony of _KlausKlausKlaus_. The heel of the red shoes was about two inches off of the ground, a positively towering height for a twelve-year-old boy, but he couldn’t care less as he toed off his saddle shoes and slipped the heels on over his knee-socks.  
  
His ankle wobbled uncertainly as he put on the second heel and, in an attempt to keep stability, he held on to the shoe rack for support. Thankfully (and surprisingly), he was able to find his balance again. Somehow, he even managed to take several steps forward on his own, but the very second that his ankles began to shake once more, he fumbled desperately for the rack again. It took him several step-wobble-stops before he was able to make it out of the door.  
  
This was a whole ‘nother story. Out in the hallway, he didn’t have the shoe rack conveniently by his side to help him find his balance. There wasn't much for him to support himself with in the hall unless he counted holding onto one of the paintings, but that, he knew, wasn't the best idea. If he tore one of them, Father would find out and practically kill him. He made a mental plan of execution to stay close to walls as he went, but also made sure to avoid any priceless paintings in an attempt to avoid punishment. His plan worked well enough and, before long, he made it to his first challenge; the stairs.  
  
He’d had this fanciful notion that if he walked slowly and gracefully down them, he’d look like a Disney princess. Grinning, he tried to do just that, one foot in front of the other, holding onto the rails loosely, until—

He rolled his ankle and went tumbling down the staircase with about as much grace as a three-legged elephant on roller skates. He went down like a bowling ball, stair after stair after stair after stair…  
  
  
  
  
  
Five loved it when Father was out. It was a blissfully quiet time to where he could read wherever and, more importantly, _whatever_ he wanted. Father had only recently cut him off with his temporal training for whatever aggravating reason, and Five was itching for something challenging to do. The curriculum books and the ones in the library weren’t enough to quench his thirst for learning, so whenever Father was gone, Five would steal one of Father's books and absolutely devour it.  
  
There was a very specific book hidden deep within the library of Father’s study called ‘A Theory on Quantum Physics & Temporal Displacement: First Edition’ that he absolutely _needed_ to read. Retrieving it was as easy as it always was. All he had to do was Jump in, take the book, and Jump out. He ignored the sound of a door closing further down the hall as he took the book off the shelf. It was probably just Grace dusting one of the guest rooms, anyway. 

Five reappeared in the parlor in his usual spark of electric blue with the accompanying _fwwhip_ , a small smile on his face. Feeling almost giddy, he threw himself onto one of the couches and dove into the book on time-traveling.  
  
Only several minutes had passed before he was interrupted. A new record, probably. A piercing shriek came from the foyer, and he half-expected Vanya to come running in, screaming and crying that there being another rat in the pantry as if he had the balls to do something about it. Only the middle double-doors were open, so he could see just a portion of the entrance room, but it was enough for him to see the bottom half of the staircase. Klaus rolling down it was enough to have Five jumping into action. In one swift yet calculated motion, he stood, threw his book down, and Jumped in the foyer. He’d anticipated enough time so that he’d be able to catch Klaus before he hit the bottom, but he was too late.  
  
“What was that?” someone yelled from upstairs. It sounded like Diego, but it could’ve easily been Ben.

Klaus was lying face-first, spread-eagled. Five was wary to kneel down beside him, even more so to shake his shoulders. He’d read somewhere that it could further injure someone if you shook their shoulders like that, but he did it anyway. He couldn’t tell for the life of him if Klaus was conscious or not.  
  
“Klaus?” His throat felt tight. _Oh, Jesus._  
  
He’d always been so stubborn about his asthma, so adamant that he didn’t need his inhaler, but it was at times like these where he couldn’t give two shits if he looked weak when using it. It would help if he hadn’t been stupid/stubborn enough to leave it buried deep in his sock drawer. He pushed on nevertheless. “What the…?” He trailed off when he caught sight of the shoes on Klaus’ feet and put two and two together.  
  
“ _MOM_!” He had no idea where she could be. The mansion, as far as Five knew, had 42 freakin’ bedrooms and 19 bathrooms, she could be literally anywhere. He also knew for a fact that you couldn’t scream from one end of the house to the other. He just hoped that she was somewhere close and had heard him because, _God_ , if she hadn’t, they’d be in deep shit.  
  
Klaus, as far as Five knew, was unresponsive. Looking down to once more access Klaus, he realized that there was a pool of blood beside his face. Just as he was about to Jump away to see if he could find Mom himself, Diego came barreling down the stairs, a knife clutched in his hand. Ben and Vanya weren't far behind him. Unsurprisingly, Luther and Allison were no where to be seen.  
  
“What the hell happened?!” Diego demanded at once, glancing between Five and (incapacitated) Klaus. He shoved his knife back into its holster as he knelt beside Klaus on the other side, trying to get a better look at his injuries. He regarded the red high heels on Klaus’ feet with a quirk of his eyebrows. Still, no one had thought to turn him over in risk of injuring him even further. _Hell_ , he could have brain damage or something.  
  
Five knew better than to answer. The high heels were enough of a clue for even the dumbest detective to deduce what had happened. “I’m gonna try and find Mom.”  
  
He didn't stick around an affirmation as he Jumped seemingly out of existence with a sharp _fwwhip_.

By the time that Five had come back with Mom, Allison and Luther had made their way down to the foyer along with everyone else. Five must’ve been lucky because he found Mom in the very first place that he had looked— the kitchen. As soon as Five opened his mouth to explain what had happened, she asked him if he needed his inhaler. He blinked for a moment, then fervently denied it. She nodded, and the moment he was finished recounting what he assumed had happened through his wheezing breath, she put down the disinfectant spray in her hand and followed him into the foyer.  
  
She rushed to Klaus' side in an instant, her own pair of purple heels clicking against the linoleum, instantly in what Klaus would call 'Mah-me mode' in a shitty, unrealistic robot impression. “Five, honey," she said without looking back at him. "Go fetch the stretcher." He did just that in a flash of fiery blue. He was back in ten seconds, tops. “Luther, help me carry him to the Medical Bay.”  
  
She paused for a moment to scan Klaus, who was still face-down and equally unresponsive, with her robotic censors. Almost hesitantly, she rolled him over onto his back. His eyes were wide open, darting back and fourth almost fearfully. Allison gasped, gauging his injuries, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. Tears sprung into Vanya's eyes, and Diego had to look away.  
  
Thick red blood spilled from his mouth, coating his teeth, steady but unrelenting. His jaw had been pushed over to one side, presumably from the blunt force, obviously either dislocated or flat-out broken. It was already started to swell up like a patchy, discolored balloon. Mom motioned for Five to give her the stretcher and Luther stepped forward unprovoked, his chest inflated like an exotic bird during mating season. Five handed it off to her and moved back to stand with his other siblings as Luther effortlessly helped her maneuver Klaus onto it. She took one end of the stretcher and Luther took the other. They picked it up and began to walk it toward the Medical Bay, the others following in a sort of procession behind them.  
  
  
  
  
It was through an adrenaline-high (and not the good kind) that Klaus could remember what happened after he broke his jaw. _Sure_ , he was about 90 percent focused on the splitting pain of it all, swimming between consciousness and unconsciousness, but the other 10 percent of him was super hyper-focused on what was going on around him. He was face-down, he knew that much, and his jaw was searing ice-hot. He found himself unable to move his body, only his eyes. It didn’t help that he had fallen face-first. He could see only black. This inability to move his body was oddly reminiscent of sleep-paralysis, which was something he underwent almost every single night without fail for as long as he could remember. His powers didn’t help, either.

The stretch between breaking his jaw and being put under anesthesia was oddly, unusually clear in his mind, more so than most things. He remembered that Five was the first one to find him, which was surprising in itself. Five was usually cooped up in his room like a prisoner, chained to his desk, indebted to his studies. Today, for whatever reason, Five had been sitting down in the parlor, probably having seen the whole thing from one of the couches. If Klaus had two guesses as to what he was doing in said parlor, he would've been able to take the cake. Five was either a) doing some sort of complicated math problem in his almanac, or b) reading something super-duper advanced. He was leaning toward the latter.  
  
But Five had been wheezing when he found Klaus, gasping helplessly. _Asthma_. Of course, it was his asthma. Everyone knew that he had it, but no one ever really talked about it. Except Father, that is, but he only used it to berate Five (like Diego with his stutter) or to push him with his powers. His asthma hadn't gotten to the point where he had to carry an inhaler everywhere he went (even if it _was_ that bad, Five probably would find a way to avoid having to do that), but it was bad enough to where, on some missions, he had to step out to catch his breath, looking ashamed.  
  
He remembered that Diego had come down next, demanding to know what had happened. He didn’t know who else had come down with him, had only heard two other sets of footsteps, but he had a feeling that a set of them belonged to Ben. He remembered the _fwwhip_ of Five disappearing, two more shuffling sets of footsteps coming in, and the sound of Mom’s heels clicking.  
  
_The heels._  
  
_God_ , it was all worth it to be able to wear a pair of those beautiful heels.

He remembered Mom turning him over. His vision was swimming like it had that one time he had snuck a few sips from Dad's champagne at a dinner party for billionaires. It focused unprovoked on seemingly random things about the room, distorted and boggled, but he was able to gauge the faces above him well enough. Allison and Vanya were on the verge of tears while Ben looked almost ghostly pale. Diego was looking elsewhere and Luther was hyper-focused on Mom, awaiting the next step. Five was still wheezing, though he had quieted down a bit. He had a hand pressed to his chest as if it hurt to breathe.  
  
Klaus had been lifted onto the stretcher, presumably by Luther, and carried down the hall. The pain in his jaw was absolutely excruciating, radiating all the way up his face, down his neck, everywhere. Unfocused eyes bore into the ceiling, watching dully as the patterns changed as he entered different rooms or corridors. Allison was walking beside him, hanging close to stretcher. Her mouth was moving, forming what he could only assume were reassuring words, but he couldn’t hear them. He appreciated the thought, though. He was in too much pain to decipher it. He kept his eyes trained on the ceiling.  
  
The next thing he knew, he was on the bed in the Medical Bay, seven faces crowded around him, all with varying looks of concern. Mom walked away to fiddle with something, leaving the six faces of his siblings to stare down at him worriedly. Someone handed Five an inhaler that they had most likely gotten from Mom, and he took a shaking puff from it, squeezing the medicine down his throat. The apples of his cheeks were stark red.

That was the last thing Klaus saw before he was pricked with an IV, pumped with anesthesia, and sent into dream-land.  
  
There were no spirits in dream-land. There was only darkness.  
  
  
  
  
When he woke almost eight hours later, all he could taste was coppery metallic. It felt as if someone had stuck a penny underneath his tongue while he was out ( _Hey_ , was that, like, an old wives' tale or something?). He was surprised, for one, that he'd woken himself up on his own accord. He couldn't remember the last time that had happened. No ghosts, no alarm clock. It was blissfully quiet... almost unusually so.  
  
He had to suppress the urge to gag as he pushed himself up on his elbows. The taste of metal was overwhelming. Blinking slowly, it took him a moment to realize where he was. _The Medical Bay? Wh-Why?_ When he tried to yawn away the sleep, an unconscious reaction, he found that his mouth simply wouldn't open. In fact, he could barely move it at all.  
  
Alarmed, blood-shot eyes darted around the room, searching desperately for an explanation as to what the hell was stopping him from opening his mouth. A blurb of black and crimson drew his eyes like moths to a flame, and he found that a certain little dickhead of a brother was with him. Only him. It was cocky, arrogant, too-big-for-his-britches, snarky little Number Five.  
  
He was lying side-ways in a chair, legs draped over one side, a book title ‘Quantum Displacement: Matter and Objects’ clutched in his hands. He was blinking slowly, almost tiredly, as his eyes flitted down the page at a speed far quicker than most kids his age. When he realized that Klaus was awake, seeing him move out of the corner of his eyes, he dog-eared his page (doing so made him uneasy, chipped at his fastidious nature) and set the book down on the end table beside him. “Don’t try to talk,” he said as if Klaus wasn’t already trying desperately to do just that. “You can’t. You broke your jaw and now it just so happens to be wired shut.”  
  
_Wired shut? You mean there are a bunch of wires and metal bolts holding my mouth shut for me? And what made you so grouchy? Someone piss in your cornflakes this morning?_ Klaus had a lot he wanted to say. He frowned when he realized he couldn’t. He was just so freakin' confused about this whole thing. His mind was still muddled from whatever pain drugs Mom had put in him. He had broken his jaw, sure, but the rest was still slowly coming back to him.  
  
Five could tell that Klaus was itching to say something stupid. Sighing, he rolled out of his chair and Jumped over to his brother. Mom had sat them all down earlier and told them that whoever was on watch when Klaus woke up was supposed to give him the notebook and marker so that he could talk to them. Five handed it over and Jumped back into his chair, settling back in and crossing his legs.  
  
How long? Klaus scribbled onto the notebook. He held it up for his brother to read. The marker Grace had set out was a deep purple. Somehow, it was fitting.  
  
"I'm not sure, two months? That's what Mom said."  
  
Klaus looked absolutely shattered. _No talking for two whole months?!_  
  
That look made Five uneasy. He went on to add as quickly as he could in a half-assed attempt at reassurance, "It shouldn’t be that bad. That's not long at all."  
  
_Wait, that bad?! This is terrible!_ Klaus wanted to say, but couldn't. There were some emotions that he couldn't adequately convey through a _freakin' notebook_. His jaw still hurt like the dickens, and whatever bolt Mom had used to hold it in place was digging into his gums. This was 10x worse than 'that bad'! Five didn't have to be so cold and brazen about it! _God_ , if he were in Klaus' shoes, he would probably think differently!  
  
Before he knew it (and before Five would react appropriately... which meant Jump the-hell away), Klaus had started to cry. If it hadn't been for the fact that his jaw was wired shut, loud and ugly sobs would've ripped through his lips. His teeth muffled most of the sound, dampening the volume but not the strength. His tongue felt like a thousand pounds of pure mush. He was hugging his knees, a picture reminiscent of a cowering child. He couldn't believe that he had to spend at least _two months_ without opening his mouth! And how the hell was he supposed to eat anything?!  
  
Five had no idea what to do.

He knew far more than the average kid at his age did, sure, and he could even be considered a _child prodigy_ , but there were some things that he could never, and _will_ never, understand.  
  
Father had raised him to be afraid of both everything and nothing. As far as he was concerned, emotions were for the weak, the average, the ordinary. When you fell down, you were supposed to pick yourself up and dust yourself off, staunch the blood, do whatever you had to do to keep on moving. If you showed emotion, you were weak and you were useless. If you showed emotion, you'd be the first to die. It was simple... but it really wasn't.  
  
The others were fine and dandy with showing emotions, intentionally (or unintentionally, in Luther's case) ignoring Father's logic. Emotions could be used to help with survival. And sure, they weren’t buddy-buddy with each other all the time, but there were moments, rare pockets of fresh air, where they got along. Now Five didn’t hate his brothers and sisters (God, he’d be a terrible person if he did), but he just didn’t understand how they could bounce back from that. He just couldn't.  
  
There was only so much he could handle in an emotional situation, and crying definitely passed that line, but he just couldn't back down now. There was no one here to comfort Klaus— no Ben, no Vanya— and unless Five wanted to turn tail and run like a complete dick and subsequently feel bad about it, he'd have to deal with it himself.  
  
In a flash of electric blue, he reappeared beside Klaus and hesitantly (oh so hesitantly) set a hand on his shoulder. Klaus looked up at him the second he felt the pressure on his shoulder, watery-eyed. He looked like he wanted to say something, but obviously couldn't. A crease had formed between his eyebrows.  
  
"It's okay, Klaus," Five said in an uncharacteristically soft voice, doing his very best to sound kind and considerate like Vanya always did. There was something so placating and level about her voice that calmed him down (even if he tried not to show it) and made him believe whatever she was saying even if it was ridiculous and impossible. "You'll be okay. I _promise_ you'll be okay."  
  
Blearily, Klaus reached for his notebook and scribbled out his previous message. How do u know that?

“I don’t,” Five said simply because he didn't. “I know that it’s only two months, it’s not too bad. I know that you have your notebook. And maybe I could do some research on ASL or something like that. There might something in library on it. I could learn it and teach it to you. I could teach a little bit to everyone. The easy things."  
  
Klaus looked lost.   
  
"American Sign Language?" Five, no matter how hard he tried (he didn't), couldn't keep the condescending drawl out of his voice, nor could he stop himself from rolling his eyes. He let his hand fall back down to his side. "Maybe you could learn some of it so you don't have to use your notebook all the time."  
  
Klaus nodded. It sounded somewhat promising, he supposed, but just didn't know. The others would have to go through the trouble of learning it with him, and Klaus didn't necessarily want to be that much of a burden.  
  
"If we can't do it, at least you have the notebook at all. You can still make your stupid-ass jokes." After a moment, he added, just for good measure, “Just don’t make ‘em about me. I hate your jokes.”  
  
Klaus held a hand to his chest. With his other hand, he clumsily scribbled onto the notebook. Not true, My jokes are peek comedy.  
  
Five could just barely make it out. "You used the wrong peak, dumbass. People usually mix them up the other way around. You know, it's honestly not that surprising that you're always paired up with _me_ for English. I could really help you."  
  
BIGHEAD. Klaus scowled, underlining the word twice.  
  
Five pretended he didn't see it. He was used those kinds of insults, always focused on his intelligence (arrogance, more like). After retrieving his book, he turned back to Klaus and said at length, "Well, I have to tell Mom and the others that you’re awake so they don’t think you’re dead. You’ve been out for almost eight hours, by the way. That's even longer than that one time Luther gave Diego a concussion." He crinkled his nose. "And Dad and Pogo are back. They aren't very happy."  
  
Klaus fumbled for his notebook. His purple marker flew across the page, a shaky streak of ink. Once again, Five could barely read it. Do they know about the heels??  
  
“Of course, they do. Dad about had a conniption when he found out. Mom told him." Five rubbed his eyes, then went on, "Good luck, by the way. You'll need it.” And with a two-fingered salute, he vanished in a ripple of fiery blue.  
  
_Dickhead!_ Klaus wanted to call after him, but couldn't.  
  
It was only then, with Five gone, that Klaus began to realize the absence of a certain type of white-noise that his ears weren’t used to. There were no ghosts around. On rare, good days once in a blue moon, there were still a few spirits sulking around, bemoaning their deaths, but now, there were absolutely none. Not even Disembolwed Freddie was here, and he usually stuck to Klaus like glue. Being without the ghosts was strange and unusual, but comforting all the while.  
  
It was blissfully quiet, a muddled haze. There was light coming in from the window, filtered through thin drapes. It cast the room in a reddish-pinkish glow.  
  
Klaus could blame it on something else and be just fine with it, but he knew good and well even then the reason for it— the pain drugs that Mom had given him. They’d messed with his perception, muffled his power to a dull nothing. It was refreshing, but it was also so _foreign-feeling_ and _scary_ that Klaus didn’t know how to react to it. He’d become so accustomed to having someone screaming into his ear all hours of the day and night that it felt weird to be left in silence.

It was a good silence, though. He liked it. Maybe even a little too much.

  
  
The next time Klaus opened his eyes, there were four familiar faces looking down at him, all with varying degrees of concern. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but could assume it wasn’t that long. It was still light outside, the sun was high up in the sky, and he could guess that after Five had told Mom that he had woken up (or at least stopped being unconscious), her, Ben, Vanya, and Allison had come to check on him.

Klaus blinked up at them. His notebook was still in his lap, open to the last page he had been writing on. All of his messages were still there in purple ink, messy and unorganized. He wouldn’t blame them if they’d read the one side-sided conversation, filling in the gaps where Five spoke.  
  
“Oh, Klaus, dear, are you feeling alright?” Mom fussed over him, putting a hand on his forehead. “Just nod or shake your head, that’d be fine.” Though technically a robot, she could show just as much emotion as an actual human being. Her face was set with worry, her lips pursed.  
  
He nodded.  
  
“Any pain then?”  
  
He nodded again.  
  
“I’ll give you another dose, but I can’t give you anything heavier,” she said, already doing just that, fiddling with a syringe. “Your father instructed that I only give you a certain amount. I know that it hurts, but you’re still a child and giving you anything heavier can be dangerous. Afterwards, your father wishes to speak with you about the incident.”  
  
_The incident._ Klaus could feel his heart beating in his throat. Mom had made it sound so meager and unimportant when it was really anything but. Father wanted to talk to him. About _the incident._  
  
He could do nothing but sit there and watch as Mom emptied the syringe into the IV bag, thankful that he’d at least be getting something for the pain. He hoped that if he was hopped up on whatever kind of pain medication this was that he wouldn’t be too affected by whatever Father was going to say. It wasn’t like Klaus could say anything back, his jaw was _wired shut._  
  
After Mom had finished, taking off her rubber gloves and throwing them into the garbage bin, she beckoned Ben, Vanya, and Allison out of the room. “Come along now, children,” she said, sounding eerily like a kind-hearted mother in a fairy-tale. Ben and Vanya followed obediently, but Allison stayed back for a moment. She took a step forward and squeezed his hand, smiling sadly as she said, “Don’t let what Dad says get to you. I thought you looked absolutely killer in those heels, by the way. I’m actually kinda jealous that you got to wear them. Maybe I can teach you how to walk in them once you get better.”  
  
Klaus nodded, smiling back at her. _I’d like that_ , he wanted to say, but couldn’t.  
  
Allison squeezed his hand once more and, with a small nod, left with the others. As he watched her go, the smile fell off of his face. He wasn’t ready for this.  
  
He felt strangely like a convict on his way to a very public execution, perhaps by guillotine or something equally horrendous. Klaus had seen a few ghosts that had gone up against the guillotine, and they didn’t look too good. Of course, they couldn’t talk because, well.. because they were _headless_ , but he could tell that it was undesirable way to die.

As he pondered other horrible means of execution, feeling both airy and light, Father strode into the Medical Bay, his shoes clacking against the tile like horse hooves. Pogo was behind him (which was a promising fact), struggling to keep up with his master’s long strides. He was carrying a clipboard in his big, hairy hands, looking anywhere but at Father and Klaus. He nervously shifted his weight from foot-to-foot.  
  
Not one for pleasantries, Father dove right into his interrogation. “Number Four, what’s the meaning of this?” he snapped impatiently. “And write your reply legibly! I don’t have time to make out your chicken scratch!” His arms were folded across his chest and, not for the first time, Klaus was reminded with his resemblance to an authoritative dictator (probably because he _was_ one).  
  
Wasting no time at all, Klaus flipped to the next clean page in his notebook. He then began to write his reply as quickly and as neatly as he could. I fell down the stairs and broke my jaw. He hated it when Father asked him what ‘the meaning’ of whatever he did was. What did it even mean? It was just something Father liked to say when he was incensed.

“I know that much!” Father barked. Pogo flinched. “Why did you steal Grace’s shoes and go prancing about the house in them? You’re a _thief_ , Number Four!”  
  
I was curious and it was stupid. He did have to agree with himself that what he had done was stupid— he had fallen down the stairs and broke his jaw, for Chrissakes— but he didn’t know if he regretted it, per se. Something about walking through the house in those _beautiful red heels_ was liberating. He hoped that he could do it again sometime, just without the threat of breaking his jaw again.  
  
“It _was_ stupid,” Father conceded. “And it got you on the bench for two months! You were near useless anyway, but now we have a smaller team. I’m adding extra exercise periods to your regimen and additional English assignments to improve your grammar. Once you jaw heals, I’m scheduling you extra training so you don’t fall behind the others.”  
  
Father seemed to be waiting for some kind of reaction, so Klaus nodded. _At least it was better than mausoleum time._  
  
“Pogo will be assessing your memory in light of your mild concussion,” Father instructed. Without another word, he turned on his heel and left. The sound of the door slamming shut behind him was as loud and as abrupt as a gunshot.  
  
Pogo glanced down at his clipboard for a moment. “Your concussion was extremely mild, Master Klaus,” he admitted. “Nothing to worry about, but it did have you unconscious for quite a while. Do you know what day it is?”  
  
Klaus wracked his brain. 10/18. _October 18th._  
  
“That’s right.” Pogo nodded, checking something off on the clipboard. “This morning you fell down the stairs. Do you remember where you found the shoes that caused your fall?”  
  
Mom’s closet. Near Father’s office. Found it looking for my tarot cards. It was a measly excuse and an obvious lie, but if Pogo could tell him out, he didn’t say anything about it.  
  
“Why did you walk down the stairs with them on?”  
  
_To look like a princess_ , he wanted to say, but knew that he couldn’t. Wasn’t thinking. Just did. Thought it would look cool. His responses were getting less and less wordy as his hands grew more tired.  
  
Pogo scribbled down a note. “And finally, are your powers still working properly?”  
  
For a moment, Klaus could only blink. Did Pogo know that the medicine muffled his powers? Did it have something to do with his injury instead? Had he lost his powers? Shakily, Klaus nodded his head. Pogo didn’t have to know anything. Klaus would be fine… right?  
  
“Then that’s all.” Pogo checked off another box, recapping his pen. “I’ll leave you to rest. Grace will be back in later to bring you dinner.” With that, Pogo padded out of the room, closing the door behind him.  
  
Klaus sighed, sinking back down into the pillows underneath him. _This sucks._

 

**Author's Note:**

> five with asthma? It's more likely than you think. it just came upon me and i HAD to keep it in. no questions asked. 
> 
> also, an ENTIRE klaus-centric fic where he says NOT A SINGLE SPOKEN WORD OF DIALOGUE. is this a record? i miss writing his sweet little voice
> 
> ALSO i won't be able to write for the next month and a half (it's gonna kill me. I NEED WRITE) because i'm going on a camping trip across America without my computer. i promise that the second i get back, i'll pump out a zillion stories for you children


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